those cunning folk
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Collection of Slytherin drabbles.:: 1. Blaise and Millicent find a way to enjoy the Yule Ball without that romantic rubbish.
1. Not a Date

_Character Appreciation: friendship_

 _Showtime, The Confrontation: "Men like you can never change."_

 _Holmes Mystery: superficial_

 _Word Count: 333_

* * *

"What about Hestia or Flora?" Millicent asks as she and Blaise sit by the fountain in the courtyard, watching the crowds of students trek along through the thin layer of snow.

Blaise offers her a lazy shrug of his shoulders before turning his attention to the book balanced awkwardly on his long legs. "Not really my type," he murmurs.

"Men like you can never change," she snorts.

Intrigued, he shifts his gaze back to his friend. An amused smirk plays at his lips. "Men like me?" he echoes, poking her shoulder gently with his slender finger. "And what exactly am I like?"

"Superficial."

"Ouch." He rests a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "You wound me, Mill."

She chuckles and shakes her head, pushing a hand through her short, caramel hair. "Just saying. You're notoriously picky. If you don't ask someone soon, you won't have a date to the Yule Ball."

Blaise rolls his eyes at that. He doesn't actually care about the stupid ball. In fact, if he hears Draco Malfoy mention it again, he might lose his mind. Still, he feels obligated to go. It's not something that happens often, and everyone acts like it's such a big deal. That doesn't mean he wants to actually take a date, though. Everyone may call him picky, but, truthfully, he is just too focused on his own goals, too driven to gain the world, that he can't even be bothered to entertain the notion of dating.

"Go with me to the ball," he says simply.

Millicent snorts. "No offense, mate, but I'm still pretty gay," she reminds him.

"And I don't want to have to spend the night assuring my date that she's the prettiest girl in the room, and I'm head over heels for her," he counters.

His friend considers for a moment. Finally, after a stretch of silence, she takes his hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. "Great. It's not a date!"

Blaise grins. "Sounds good to me."


	2. Goodbye

_Character Appreciation: death in the family_

 _Showtime, The First Attack: crying_

 _Word Count: 433_

* * *

Draco thinks that he's going to be okay.

He and his father hadn't exactly been close, after all. His father's choices had formed a chasm between them. By the time the war had ended, it was too late. The damage had been done, and there was no way to mend the wounds that had been left.

So, learning that his father had passed away hadn't been the most devastating news. Draco had read the letter aloud over breakfast. Astoria had shattered her favorite teacup in her hurry to comfort him.

But he hadn't felt a damn thing, and he'd gone about his day like nothing had changed at all.

Now, however, he isn't so sure. His mother stands in the doorway, her eyes puffy and pink. Fresh tear tracks stain her cheeks, but she still offers Draco a shaky smile when she sees him.

"My boy," she says, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. "My dear boy."

"How are you holding up, Mother?"

He doesn't need to ask. Their marriage hadn't always been the happiest; sometimes, Draco had wondered why his parents had bothered to get married at all. In the end, however, despite his father's poor decisions, despite the hell their family had been through, the love had always been there.

A fresh sob escapes her lips, causing her frail body to quake and tremble. Astoria moves quickly, taking the older woman gently by the hand. "Let's fix you a cup of tea, Narcissa," she soothes. "Nice soothing lavender, yeah?"

When they're gone, Draco finds his courage somehow. He forces his legs to carry him forward, one hesitant step at a time, until he reaches the casket.

That's when his strength dissolves. Looking down at his father's body somehow makes it so much more real. It's more than just an urgent announcement in a letter or a brief mention in the newspaper. Lucius Malfoy is dead, and Draco cannot look away.

His palms rest against the polished mahogany casket. His mouth suddenly feels very dry, and his stomach becomes acidic.

He had admired his father once. Growing up, he had considered the man to be a hero, and Draco had shaped his life around him, trying so desperately to fill his shoes. Eventually, that admiration had twisted into resentment; resentment had faded to apathy.

Now, twenty-six years' worth of emotions flood his body. Tears fall from his eyes, and he furiously wipes them away.

"I hate."

He sniffs.

"I'm sorry."

Somehow, he manages to suck in a shaky breath, even though his lungs sting and burn.

"I love you."


	3. Protective

_Character Appreciation: oldest child_

 _Showtime, The Convent: hiding from someone_

 _Word Count: 389_

* * *

Daphne doesn't expect to find anyone in the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor. She most certainly doesn't expect to find her sister sitting in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, looking like she might burst into tears at any moment.

"Astoria?" Daphne hurries closer, frowning as she kneels in front of her little sister. "What are you doing here?"

A rich scarlet stains the younger girl's cheeks. She offers Daphne a shaky smile. "Didn't know anyone else used this classroom to hide out."

Daphne snorts. She's about to point out that she's used it since before Astoria had even started Hogwarts, but her sister's words click suddenly. "Hide out?" she echoes, her voice sharp as she already prepares to hunt down and flay anyone who has sent the younger girl into hiding. "Who are you hiding from?"

Astoria's blush darkens. She pushes a hand through her dark hair, clearing her throat. "Leave it, Daph."

"I don't think so. Who the hell has been messing with you?"

She and Astoria don't always get along, but that's part of being sisters. While Daphne is allowed to torment and tease her annoying beloved little sister, she is the only one with that privilege. Anyone else who tries will be lucky to escape without being subjected to at least a dozen hexes.

"Tori…"

Astoria bites her lip before exhaling deeply. It's a defeated sound, but Daphne can't quite bring herself to enjoy her victory. "Adrian keeps trying to snog me," she says, making a face.

"He _what?_ "

It may not seem like a big deal to some people. There's that ridiculous mindset that boys will be boys. But Daphne is fuming. Astoria is eleven. Adrian is fourteen. He should know better!

"Daph, it's fine!"

Daphne shakes her head. She would be out for blood if _anyone_ had told her this. The fact that it's her little sister only makes things worse.

"He's harassed you until you felt the need to hide in a bloody classroom, Tori!" Daphne snaps. "It's not fine at all. Sod that."

"Daph, where are you going?"

Daphne pauses at the door, offering her sister a grin. "I'll make sure he doesn't mess with you again."

Her sister protests, but Daphne doesn't care. She will show Adrian why it's a bad idea to mess with someone's little sister.


	4. Finding Courage

_Faerie, Air: open, breathe_

 _World Cup, France vs Australia: "If you're going to be two faced, at least make one of them pretty."_

 _Character Appreciation: vengeance_

 _Amber's Attic, Dysfunctional: Write about someone lashing out_

 _Word Count: 468_

* * *

Millicent feels the blood in her veins turn to fire. Blaise had tried to warn her against getting close to Pansy, but she hadn't listened. She had been a bloody idiot and confided some of her deepest, darkest secrets in a girl known for her cruelty and loose tongue. Now, her secrets are out in the open.

People have always looked at Millicent like she's some sort of freak. Even her own Housemates see her as some brutish creature. The way they looked at her before is nothing compared to this. At least they used to try to be subtle about it. Now, they stare openly and whisper to one another.

 _There's Millicent._

 _There's the girl who says she starves herself._

 _It isn't doing her any good, is it?_

Blaise stays by her side, his posture stiff and rigid, his dark eyes alert, as though daring anyone to mess with her. Millicent is grateful for her best friend—her _real_ best friend—but it doesn't make her feel any better. The trust she had given Pansy is broken now.

She feels Blaise tense beside her. He grips her wrist gently, trying to guide her along. "Come on, Mil," he mutters. "Let's go this way."

She's about to point out that he's trying to take the long way, when she looks up and understands. Pansy leans against the wall, laughing and telling Flora and Hestia Carrow something. Millicent swallows. She knows should listen to Blaise and walk the other way, but her feet seem to have other plans. She stalks closer, Blaise on her heels and calling after her.

"Oi, Parkinson!"

Pansy looks up. When she notices Millicent there, she smirks; the Carrow twins giggle nastily.

Millicent doesn't give her a chance to strike first. "If you're going to be two faced, at least make one of them pretty," she snaps.

Pansy's eyes widen, and Millicent hears Blaise mutter, "Oh, shit."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You lying, scheming, backstabbing, worthless—"

Millicent can't bring herself to finish her train of thought. Tears sting her eyes, and there's a tightness in her chest that makes it difficult to breathe. Instead, she shoves Pansy roughly against the wall and pins her; if the world wants to believe that she's a brute, she'll embrace it. "Keep my name out of your mouth."

She doesn't wait for Pansy to respond. With a low growl, Millicent releases and nods to Blaise. "Let's go."

It's such a small act of vengeance, but it feels so good. Millicent will not a mat for people to walk over. By dinner, she knows word will spread about how she stood up to Pansy, and everything will be okay again.

"What came over you?" Blaise asks as they make their way down the corridor.

Millicent shrugs, smiling. "I found my strength."


	5. In the Garden

_Word Count: 667_

* * *

"Finish your wine," Daphne says as she sips her own glass of champagne.

Astoria shrugs, swirling her glass absently. The burgundy liquid splashes against the sides before rippling the pool of sweet wine. Daphne watched her sister curiously. Enjoying a nice drink in the garden and watching birds and insects flying and soaring has always been their Saturday tradition. Now, Astoria looks as though she isn't quite there, like her mind is forever away.

"Not like you to waste alcohol," Daphne notes, frowning. "Have you got a bun in the oven?"

She tries to keep her tone light and chooses the simplest, more humorous explanation for the change in behavior.

The younger girl shakes her head. "No! Merlin, no!" And Daphne is glad to hear her laugh. "No bun. Definitely not."

"Well?" Daphne presses, smoothing her hand over her mauve sundress. "What is it? I've never known you to be so quiet for more than a few minutes at a time."

Astoria scowls. Good. As long as she continues to show that she's in a good mood, Daphne can at least attempt to relax. She's always going to worry about Astoria—that comes with the territory of being an older sister—but the days when Astoria isn't clearly distressed are infinitely easier.

"What do you think about Draco Malfoy?" Astoria asks, finally taking a small sip of her wine before swirling it again, seeming to lose herself in thought.

Daphne opens her mouth to answer but quickly shuts it again. A laugh threatens to fall from her lips, but she swallows it down. Something tells her that Astoria's question is serious, that this might even be an important question. She finishes the last of her champagne and summons the bottle from where it's been kept on ice.

"Draco Malfoy," she muses, removing the cork and pouring the fragrant, bubbly drink into her glass. "What can I say about Draco Malfoy?"

She doesn't exactly like him, but she doesn't dislike him either. For the most part, she has always been rather apathetic where he's concerned. This doesn't seem like the answer Astoria is searching for, so Daphne digs deep, almost desperate for something to tell her sister.

"I mean… He's a bit attractive, isn't he?" Daphne offers with a shrug. She takes a deep drink of champagne, contemplating what to say next. "I'm not into that whole troubled, brooding thing he has going on, but that's just me."

"What's he like?" Astoria asks, and there's a dreamy note to her voice.

Daphne thinks she understands now. It's almost cute, really. Even if she doesn't care much for Draco, she still finds it adorable that her little sister seems to fancy him. This settles it: she has to find more positive things to say about her old Housemate.

"He's… Well, he's gotten better since the war ended," she says. "I don't know if you remember how insufferable he used to be… or if you noticed him at all."

Astoria shakes her head. It's a small relief. At least Daphne doesn't have to spend time trying to find away to talk about Draco's younger self without excusing his former cruelty.

"Good. He's… He's an okay bloke. Why?" She raises dark brows, her lips twisting into a bright, toothy grin. "Do you fancy him or something?"

Daphne expects more of a reaction. Even at nineteen, Astoria has always acted like a giggling schoolgirl when talking about blokes. Now, however, she just blushes and downs the last of her wine. "I don't know yet."

"Yet?" Daphne can't help getting more and more curious as the conversation progresses. "What do you mean _yet?_ "

"He… He asked me out," Astoria answers, her blush darkening.

Daphne can't help but grin. "Brilliant! Another glass of wine to celebrate!"

"I haven't said yes yet!"

"You will; I know you, Tori. _Accio wine!_ "

And as she pours her sister another glass, Daphne feels a flutter of excitement. There will be something new to discuss next weekend during the girls' afternoon.

* * *

 _Balloons: champagne_

 _World Cup, Argentina vs Croatia: Daphne Greengrass_

 _Film Festival: "Finish your wine."_

 _Eagle Day, Parvati: mauve, siblings_

 _Faeries, air: soaring, flying_

 _Character Appreciation: Astoria_

 _Disney, family: Write about sisters_

 _Days, Sister Day: Write about sisters_

 _Summer: "Have you got a bun in the oven?"_

 _Flowers, aster: attractive_


	6. Drinks and Dares

_Kissing Booth: Oliver Wood must kiss Theo Nott_

 _Book Club, Slightly: eye rolling, game, teasing_

 _Showtime, Story of Tonight: friends_

 _Lyric Alley: I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight._

 _Lowdown: "I'm not totally useless. I can be used as a bad example."_

 _Hamilton Mania, making the most of your life: happiness (Draco Malfoy)_

 _Word Count: 661_

* * *

"I'm not totally useless," Blaise says proudly, downing another shot. "I can be used as a bad example."

"Can't we all?" Draco snorts, motioning for another round of drinks.

The barmaid waves her wand, clearing the drained glasses from their table. A moment later, fresh glasses appear. The others resume drinking without any acknowledgment. Theo, on the other hand, ever the quiet and polite one, nods his appreciation and is rewarded with a brief smile.

"Not Theo," Marcus says teasingly when the chatter begins. He pats Theo's back roughly, nearly making the younger boy spill his drink. "Theo is the good one."

"Fair point. Sweet Theo, out little angel," Blaise teases.

Theo rolls his eyes, but he doesn't argue with them. By now, he's well aware that laying low is his best option. He doesn't know how to make them abandon their little game completely, but he's learned that ignoring them sometimes lessens the blows. Eventually, they'll lose interest with him and move on.

Still, despite their merciless teasing, he can't complain. He's happiest when he's out with them, even if he stays in the shadows, shying away from attention. There's something comforting about being out with his friends, despite how opposite they are from him.

"I'm hardly an angel," he says, unable to resist defending himself.

"Oh yeah?" Draco challenges, sipping his ale. "Prove it."

"How?" Theo asks with a sigh, already regretting it.

For a moment, the other three remain silent. Theo watches as they look around, as though searching for some epic task so that he can prove himself. In the back of his mind, he wonders if this is what Gryffindors have to go through. It seems more fitting for them than for a group of Slytherins.

"Aren't you a Puddlemere fan?" Marcus asks, leaning back and watching Theo with raised brows.

"Yes…?"

"Their Keeper just walked in. Go give him a kiss."

Theo's eyes find Oliver Wood easily enough. He's spent enough time at Hogwarts admiring the handsome, older man, and his gaze locks on him. Heat floods his cheeks, and he's about to refuse and go back to his drink when a sudden urge hits him.

Why shouldn't he try? Worst case scenario, he looks like an idiot and has to spend the rest of the night listening to his friends recount his epic failure. Best case scenario…

Without a word, Theo slides out of the booth. A rare silence hangs over his friends as he smooths out the creases of his shirt.

"He's going to do it!" Draco says, his tone half shocked, half impressed.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Theo forces himself forward. He takes a seat next to Oliver at the bar and offers him a smile. "Good game against the Catapults," he mutters, his nerve faltering.

Oliver looks at him, his eyes moving slowly over his body. After a moment, he returns the small. "You're a fan, then?" he asks.

"More than you'll ever know."

His heart races, and he almost hops down and runs off. But something pushes him through, and he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Oliver's lips. "Call it a good luck charm for your match this weekend," he says, his tongue suddenly sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He did. He actually did it.

Theo thinks he might puke.

Oliver grins. "Will you be at the match?" he asks.

"I… I..."

"I'd like for you to be," the Keeper adds. "And the after party?"

"I think that can be arranged. I'm Theo."

"I know," Oliver says before turning to the group of Slytherins in the distance and waving. "Flint said he had a cute friend. I have to say, I'm not disappointed."

Theo can't help but laugh. All this time, he's assumed his friends are just idiots. Maybe they're not so bad after all. At the very least, they've helped Theo get an exciting date.

What more could he ask for?


	7. Liar, Liar

_Tearoom: Theo_

 _Disney, Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious: Write about someone afraid to speak_

 _Book Club, The Commander: companion, "I only wanted to make things better.", black._

 _Amber's Attic, loved one's name: Write about someone important to your character_

 _Lyric Alley: "No one will love you as you are."_

 _Sophie's Shelf: TheoBlaise_

 _Word Count: 320_

* * *

Theo opens his mouth but quickly closes it again. There are so many things he could say, but he is afraid of making everything worse. Blaise's eyes are fixed upon the black skull and serpent that makes his pale skin, and there is no denying the hatred in his companion's dark expression.

"Why?" Blaise demands. "Why would you join them?"

Theo has kept his secret for as long as he could, always laughing things off and sweeping them under the rug, trying so desperately to pretend his world isn't falling apart. Blaise hadn't suspected a thing. But he's so tired of hiding, of lying to the boy who means everything to him.

"Answer me," Blaise hisses.

But Theo doesn't know how. He could talk about pressure, about how his father had insisted, how Theo had been too weak to say no. But that isn't quite right. There had been a fear deep down inside his soul. He has always been inadequate. Who could ever care about someone so dull, so unimportant?

Blaise had. Despite everything, Blaise had torn down Theo's walls, transcended beyond friendship.

And now Theo has fucked that all up.

"I only wanted to make things better," Theo finally says, his voice barely above a whisper and cracking with emotion.

Tears sting his eyes. He is going to lose everything. Maybe that doesn't matter; maybe people like him don't deserve happy endings.

His boyfriend scoffs, eyes rolling. "Better?" he echoes dryly. "And how's that working out for you?"

"Please, understand…"

"Understand what? That you lied to me? Because guess what, _Theodore,_ that's what really hurts. I could forgive everything else, but you _lied_."

Theo has no words. He keeps his mouth closed, that same fear washing over him. Speaking is dangerous. It can only make Blaise hate him.

"Have a nice life," Blaise says, turning on his heel and stalking off.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.


	8. Moving On

_Gobstones, grey stone (isolation): "Lethal Combination"- The Wombats, stroll, windy_

 _Pizza, tapenade: no one over 20_

 _Gris-Gris: only Slytherins_

 _Autumn: boots_

 _Color: tan_

 _Birthstone, Pearl: "I have this medical condition called Personal Space."_

 _Elemental: cloud_

 _Character Appreciation: wealthy_

 _Showtime, After the Fall: swinging_

 _Amber's Attic, The Exorcist: pea soup_

 _Count Your Buttons: "Are you alone?"_

 _Lyric Alley: Couldn't look you in the eye_

 _Sophie's Shelf, Hannibal Lecter: "I don't find you very interesting."_

 _Word Count: 675_

* * *

"Guilt by association, I'll keep you close to me _."_

* * *

Pansy doesn't even bother to look up from her book when she hears the sudden pounding on the door. In the weeks following the war, countless friends have appeared at her doorstep, trying to talk to her. But Pansy doesn't want to talk. The world is no longer safe for her; everyone knows about her outburst before the final battle, and they judge her. It's easier to hide away.

After a while, everyone gives up. Maybe she isn't worth the effort. Maybe they just want to make a show of reaching out so they can say they tried. Whatever the reason, Pansy is grateful they give up. Alone is the best way to be.

She absently stirs her pea soup, pursing her lips. Now that she's prepared her light lunch, she isn't hungry anymore.

"Merlin, Pansy! Do you not know how to answer the bloody door?" Blaise stands in her dining room, arms folded over his chest. His dark eyes flash with annoyance. "Didn't you hear me knocking?"

"I did, but I ill." She sets her book aside at last. "I suffer from this medical condition called Personal Space."

He snorts. "Cute," he says, sitting across from her and crossing his legs, absently rubbing a bit of dirt from his tan boots. "Are you alone? I've never seen the house so empty."

"Father and his girlfriend are away for the summer," she answers, staring at her hands. "I suppose he hasn't shown her how wealthy he is. He acts like he still needs to impress her."

"We're worried about you."

Pansy laughs. Blaise has always lacked the tact that most Slytherins have. He's always opted to be blunt and to the point. Maybe that's why he's always been her friend; he doesn't bother with niceties, making them two kindred spirits.

Now, however, it's a bit annoying. She doesn't care that anyone is worried. Let them worry. They'll get over it and probably end up happier if she isn't around. If she's honest, none of them are really her friends. They have spent years being obligated to talk to her and pretend. Now that the war is over and she has no plans to return to Hogwarts, they can finally distance themselves without fear of offending their parents.

"Come on." He jumps up and holds his hand out to her. "Let's go for a stroll. Just like when we were kids."

Pansy hesitates. She would much rather stay in, as she always does. This is her life now, and she doesn't want to give it up and venture outside.

And yet she takes his hand, allowing him to pull her up. Blaise's lips pull back into an amused grin. "I knew you couldn't resist someone like me."

"I don't find you very interesting," she counters with a smirk. "I just need some fresh air."

"Whatever you say, Pans."

It's windy outside. Pansy's dark hair whips against her face as she and Blaise make their way along her large backyard.

"Still have the swingset," Blaise notes, leading the way. "Remember when we were younger, and I'd push you?"

Pansy doesn't answer. Instead, she makes her way closer to the swing before sitting on it. The wood is still as strong, as though no time has passed at all. Blaise moves behind her and pulls her back before pushing. A laugh spills from her lips, and she realizes it has been far too long since she's laughed.

She tips her head back, watching the sky. Clouds drift along. Birds fly. The world is still turning, as though the war never happened at all. She wonders if she's the only one who can't seem to move on.

"What are you thinking about?" Blaise asks, grabbing the swing and bringing her to a stop.

She swallows dryly. "I think I'm going back to Hogwarts," she answers without even thinking about it. "I want to heal."

Her best friend wraps her in a hug, holding her close. "I knew you would come around."


	9. A Little Longer

_Advent: Lestrange family_

 _Disney, temper tantrums: Write about doing something destructive in anger_

 _Showtime, On the Street: anger_

 _Gingerbread, licorice: something fragile_

 _Present Wrapping: someone being ill_

 _Snow Globe, Privet Drive: picture_

 _Word Count: 392_

* * *

"It isn't fair!" Rabastan screams.

And, really, it isn't, Rodolphus thinks, though his anger is toward his parents. Why can't they be bothered to raise the children they had? Why must Rodolphus be the one to always look out for Rabastan and be the evil older brother who won't let him play in the snow.

"I know, Bast," Rodolphus assures him. "I'm sorry."

His words fall on deaf ears. The eight-year-old grabs the photograph on his bedside table and slings it. The silver frame is unaffected, but the glass shatters.

Rodolphus takes a deep breath, trying desperately to steady himself. Rabastan doesn't mean to lash out. Really, he can hardly blame his younger brother. What kid, upon seeing snow, would be happy to be forced to stay inside? Rabastan has never gotten to properly enjoy the snow except for that one time…

The older boy shudders, trying desperately to push that memory from his mind. It seems like a lifetime ago, but he can still see it clearly. One moment, two-year-old Rabastan had been fine. In the blink of an eye, he had collapsed in the snow, wheezing pitifully. The Healers don't have a name for the illness. Their parents just call Rabastan fragile, delicate.

Rodolphus hates that they're right. Rabastan appears to be made of glass. Sometimes Rodolphus is afraid even the smallest touch might break him.

"It isn't my fault," Rodolphus mutters, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. "Mother and Father said you have to stay inside."

"It isn't fair! I hate it! I hate you!" He reaches for something else to throw and break, but Rodolphus intervenes.

He swoops in, pulling his brother into a tight hug. The younger boy struggles for several moments before falling still. Rabastan begins trembling, sobbing.

"I just want to be normal!"

Rodolphus tightens his grip, pressing a kiss to his brother's dark hair. "I know," he says. "I know."

If he could, he would give Rabastan the world. They would be able to enjoy the snow together and never have to worry about illness or pain.

But this isn't a perfect world. Snow means danger, and he will do everything he can to keep his little brother safe. One day, he won't be able to watch out for Rabastan. Now, though, in this moment, he can protect him a little longer.


	10. What Friends Are For

_Word Count: 633_

* * *

Draco is more than a little disappointed to realize someone is already atop the Astronomy Tower. "Sorry," he mutters. "I'll go."

"You don't have to leave."

The soft, dreamy voice makes him freeze in his tracks. His blood turns cold. He knows that voice all too well. Luna Lovegood had been a prisoner in his home for quite some time. On the worst days, they would send him to give the prisoners their food. She had always looked at him with those wide, silvery eyes, and she had smiled. No matter how terrible her life was, she managed to smile through it and tell _him_ that it would be okay.

She looks up at him now, smiling that familiar smile and raising a hand in greeting. Her pale skin is covered in a thin layer of gold that sparkles in the sunlight. "You can sit with me," she tells him. "I don't mind the company."

He knows he should turn and walk away. The war is over and everyone is trying to pick up the pieces and move on. How will she be able to if he's around? How will he, knowing that she has suffered because of him?

And yet, he can't seem to say no. Mutely, he moves closer and sits beside her. She sits with her legs folded and tucked in a strange way that he could never hope to mimic. A sketch pad rests in her lap, and she holds a gold pastel in her hand.

"I didn't know you could draw." It's stupid, of course. They aren't friends; he doesn't know _anything_ about her.

"Oh, yes. Well, I prefer to paint," Luna replies, "but I rather like drawing as well."

"I can't draw."

She laughs softly and tucks an emerald green pastel into his hand. "Anyone can draw," she says. "It's just that the world teaches us that drawing has to be _good._ I think we sometimes forget that we can do things for our own enjoyment, that we don't have to make fun activities into skills."

It's such a bizarre way to look at things. Draco has always been raised to believe that anything worth learning is a vital skill, and he must learn it and be the best at it. There is no room for mediocrity when you're a Malfoy.

He swallows dryly. "Hey, Luna?"

"Yes?"

The words seem to stick in his throat. Draco leans back, eyes closing. He sucks in a deep breath to steady his nerves. His eyes open again. He doesn't feel any stronger, but he has to speak before he goes insane. "I'm sorry about what happened to you," he says. "What my family did to you… What I did to you."

"You did what you thought was right."

He doesn't understand how she can be so calm. If anyone had held him hostage and subjected him to the hell they'd put Luna through, he would hex anyone who tried to apologize. But Luna just accepts it so easily, like there is nothing to forgive at all. It surprises him.

"You're a Slytherin," she continues. "That doesn't mean you're a bad person; it just means that you wanted to survive. It would be foolish for me to be upset over that."

Draco doesn't speak at first. Her words seem to lift a weight from his shoulders, and it feels like he can finally breathe again. "Do you think you could teach me how to draw?" he asks, lifting his pastel.

She offers him a smile and tears a page from her pad. "Of course. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

He can't help but smile at that. Under ordinary circumstances, he would never even dream of being friends with Luna Lovegood. Now, however, he realizes that he doesn't mind at all.


	11. A Sister's Job

_Word Count: 406_

Astoria scowls at her sister as she drops the scrub brush back into the bucket of soapy water. It's all Daphne's fault that they're stuck in the dungeons on a perfectly beautiful spring afternoon, forced to scrub every inch of the grimy floor by hand. Of course, given the way they've been raised, Astoria doesn't look at it as though physical, Muggle labor is beneath her. It's just an annoyance, and her thin arms had started aching after only half an hour of this.

"You can't stay mad at me forever," Daphne calls sweetly, offering Astoria a cheeky grin as she scrubs a little harder at one spot. "At the end of the day, we're still sisters."

Astoria huffs and adjusts her position so that her back is to Daphne. She doesn't want to listen to logic and reason. It doesn't matter that Daphne is absolutely right. For now, Astoria just wants to be angry.

"You have to admit it was funny," Daphne says. "The look on Snape's face!"

"He is our Head of House!" Astoria snaps. "It was disrespectful, and I hate you for talking me into it!"

Silence hangs between them, tense and painful. Hot, acidic guilt burns Astoria's insides. It isn't the first time she's told Daphne that she hates her, but she thinks it might be the first time she's actually said it out of anger. She turns, mouth open and an apology ready, only to be splashed with dirty, soapy water.

"That is disgusting!"

"All is fair in love and war, dear sister," Daphne says sweetly before splashing her again.

Astoria retaliates, and war truly breaks out between the sisters. She doesn't know how much time passes, but they're both drenched to the bone, covered in suds, and gasping for breath after laughing so hard for so long.

"It seems the concept of detention is wasted on the two of you."

The girls stop immediately. Astoria looks up, smiling apologetically at Professor Snape. "I'm so sorry."

"Perhaps _separate_ detentions, every night for a week will serve as a reminder of how you are meant to behave," Professor Snape suggests. "Get out of my sight, both of you."

Once they're out of the dungeons again, the two burst out laughing, and they can't seem to stop.

"Sorry I got you in trouble again," Daphne says between giggles.

Astoria rests her head against her sister's wet shoulder. "It's okay. That's what sisters do."


	12. We'll Make It

_Word Count: 468_

* * *

Draco stands in front of the mirror, hands trembling as he adjusts his tie. He doesn't know why he should bother with his appearance. His parents would say it's because he needs to look his best to avoid rumors. He doesn't care. Why should his reputation matter to him now? The woman he loves his gone, and he has to pretend to be brave while they bury her.

His thumb brushes over the scar on his wrist. It's a cruel sort of irony. Astoria had been the one to keep him alive during his darkest moments after the war. Now, his light is gone, and he has never felt so helpless.

Hands trembling, he smooths out the creases in his cream-colored shirt, swallowing dryly. He doesn't want to do this. Astoria has always been by his side. How can he walk through hell without her?

"Dad?"

He turns. Scorpius is there, dressed up but looking just as broken as Draco feels. Draco tries to smile, to offer his son some sort of comfort and assurance, but all he manages is a choked, pitiful sob.

Scorpius crosses the room and pulls Draco into a hug. There's still a part of Draco that finds touch to be so weird. His father had been cold and distant, but Draco had tried to be better for Draco. Now, he's grateful for it as he holds his son close.

"The gods let her die," he says softly as he pulls away from the hug. "That's one of the many things they will pay for."

Draco doesn't know if he actually believes in gods or some higher power, but it makes him feel better to have someone to blame for his wife's death. At first, it had been the Healers to feel his wrath, then poor bystanders who'd had nothing to do with Astoria at all. It hadn't been enough. Even blaming some supreme deities can't seem to quell his anger.

"Mum wouldn't want you to be like this," Scorpius says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Draco swallows dryly and squeezes his eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling out. He knows his son is right, of course. Astoria was good and kind. She would want Draco to be better.

He opens his eyes again, hating the wetness that clings to his lashes. "I know," he says, the words choked and pitiful. "I just… I don't know what to do without her."

This isn't fair. Scorpius is just a kid; it isn't his responsibility to pick up Draco's broken pieces. Still, without being asked, he takes Draco's hand and squeezes it gently. "I don't either," he admits. "But we're gonna figure it out, Dad. Together, I promise."

It's an awfully big promise that feels so impossible. But Draco smiles because he believes.


	13. Live Your Life

_Word Count: 548_

* * *

Flora Carrow stands in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of her dress. It is hers and her twin's seventeenth birthday. Carrow tradition dictates that she will find a man to marry tonight. Her father has plans for them, and she suspects he wants her to marry Gregory Goyle.

She hates it. More than anything, she wants to run away and be free. Why should she do what her parents want? It makes her angry knowing that she's meant to sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of tradition. Just thinking about it makes her blood heat with fury.

"Hey." Her bedroom door opens, and Daphne stands there, looking beautiful in her navy blue gown. "Your mother said you were up here."

Flora nods, but she doesn't speak. Daphne is lucky. The Greenfrass family is not so fanatic about traditions; Flora's father often called them _progressive_ , as though it's the worst thing anyone could be. Daphne doesn't have to worry about being forced into a marriage.

"There's another option," Daphne says, like she can read Flora's thoughts.

Flora laughs. _Another option._ Maybe for some people, but not for her. She is a Carrow, and she must behave as such.

"Let's run away," Daphne says, grinning. "Just you and me. We can go on an endless adventure, maybe find a little spot to settle down. But you're my best friend, and we could really do something."

Another laugh. Flora tugs anxiously at her dark hair. Could it really be that easy? She can't help but doubt it. Life isn't easy when you have a family like hers.

So why is Daphne's excitement so infectious? Despite the voice in her head screaming that this will never work, Flora wants to believe. She doesn't want a life of anger and resentment; she wants to be free to make her own choices and carve her own path.

"It's a nice thought," she says. "But it won't happen." She twists her lips into a shaky smile. "Come on. My mother will wonder where I am."

…

The thought seems to plague her as she makes her way across the room, laughing and smiling, charming the crowd the way she's been taught. It feels so wrong. She thinks she might come out of her skin, and her lungs forget to work. Even as she breathes in and exhales, it's like she's suffocating.

She doesn't want it. Maybe she should have been more like Hestia. Her twin has always been so happy to what's expected of her. She probably thinks this is right, that she should sacrifice her happiness so that their parents will be proper pure-bloods.

This isn't the life for her. There's so much to explore, and she knows this isn't what she wants.

The noise is so overwhelming all of a sudden. Flora swallows dryly, desperately scanning the room for Daphne. It takes only a moment to find her best friend against the wall, sipping champagne.

"Excuse me," Flora says.

She doesn't wait to be excused. Heart racing, she hurries over to Daphne, grinning. "Run away with me," she says. "I'm seventeen now, so I have my inheritance. It's enough to begin our endless adventure."

Daphne drains her glass and sets it aside before linking her arm with Flora's. "Let's go."


	14. Screams In the Night

_Word Count: 431_

* * *

Blaise wakes, screaming.

It isn't fair. He should be over this by now. The war ended half a year ago, but he is still haunted, and he doesn't know if he will ever be okay again. Outside, lightning cracks, the flash illuminating his bedroom. In its brief brilliance, he realizes Theo is awake.

That makes everything even worse. Blaise likes to pretend he's strong because if he pretends, Theo doesn't have to worry about him. Knowing his screams have woken Theo makes Blaise want to melt into oblivion and disappear forever.

"I'm fine," Blaise says, but his voice cracks. He shakes his head; he will _not_ break down today.

"You don't sound fine. You've been tossing and turning for the past hour."

Blaise swears under his breath. So, he's kept Theo awake. This might just keeps getting worse. "It's just a nightmare," he says. "Go back to sleep."

Instead, his boyfriend moves closer, wrapping his arms around Blaise. It's the only thing that makes Blaise feel safe anymore, like he doesn't have all these fucking demons in his head to remind him how pathetic he is.

"Okay, fine. I lied." He takes a deep breath, trembling with the weight of the guilt. "It was _the_ nightmare again."

Long before the war ended, he started dreaming about the awful things he did. He tries to convince himself he _had_ to, that the Carrows would have made him their next victim if didn't torture the younger kids. It wasn't like he enjoyed it the way Crabbe and Goyle did.

But it isn't enough to make him feel better. He is still a monster. It doesn't matter that it was done to ensure his own survival. He remembers Longbottom refusing and enduring the pain as he was punished for his disobedience. Why couldn't Blaise have been more like him? Why did he have to be such a coward?

He wonders if Longbottom is haunted like this. Probably not. Blaise, however, relives it night after night. He can see the little kids so vividly in his head. One girl, only eleven, had been so small, so pitiful. She had begged him for mercy, and he had refused.

"One day at a time," Theo whispers.

It's become their mantra. Sometimes it helps. Mostly, though, it's just a collection of useless words that will never come close to easing his guilt.

Tonight, he lets the words wrap around him, bringing the smallest semblance of comfort. Tonight, he will forgive himself and pretend it's enough to make the pain go away.

Maybe one day they will be okay.


	15. Better Men

_Word Count: 723_

* * *

"I picked up that dessert you like."

Scorpius looks up from his book, brows raising as he notices the dark red box that can only mean one thing: his father has made a special trip to the bakery across the city. Inside that box is chocolate cake topped with chocolate syrup, chocolate chips, and whipped cream. He licks his lips. "It isn't even my birthday, Dad," he says. "What gives?"

His father sets the box on the table. "Do I really need an excuse to be nice to my own son?"

Scorpius frowns. It isn't _that._ His father has always gone out of his way to make sure Scorpius has everything he needs and wants. As a kid, Scorpius was a little on the spoiled side. Now, at fifteen, he tries to stay humble and live modestly.

The thing that is strange is that his father doesn't just do nice things like this out of nowhere. He usually waits until Scorpius asks, or his mother hints around at something.

He feels a sharp pain in his chest. Did his mother say something? That can't be it…

Except now he notices the look in his father's eyes. _He knows._ Scorpius swallows dryly, tapping his fingers against his desk. The frantic _thump, thump, thump_ against the wood matches his heartbeat.

"Mum told you?" He clears his throat. "About…"

"About Albus, yeah."

It isn't how he wanted his father to find out. Telling his mum had been easy to; she wasn't raised in such a strict, traditional household. His father, however, is a different story entirely. Still, his father has tried to change. Scorpius doesn't know what he was like back then, but he's heard the stories.

"He…" Scorpius tries to blink back tears, but they fall anyway, leaving warm, salty streaks down his cheeks. He can't even bring himself to say it.

There's a part of him that still loves Albus, that doesn't know how to accept this and move on. It's like his heart has been ripped into confetti.

His illusion of normalcy shatters, and he cries freely and openly. His father will probably think he's pathetic, but Scorpius doesn't care. It hurts so damn bad.

"Hey. Hey," his father says, closing the distance between them and hugging Scorpius tightly. "It's going to be okay, okay? I know first heartbreak isn't fun, but you're going to get through this."

"How?" Scorpius sniffles as he rests his head on his father's chest. There's something soothing about

"I don't know," his father admits. "It won't be easy, but you can do it. I promise."

Scorpius pulls away, wiping his eyes. His father doesn't make promises unless he knows he can keep them. Those two words don't fix everything and make them better, but at least it's a reassurance that he will survive.

"Now, are you going to let this cake go to waste?"

Scorpius shakes his head, opening the box. It's as glorious as he remembers. "You aren't mad?" he asks as his dad summons a knife and cuts a slice. "I mean… I'm bisexual."

"When your mother told me, I…" He trails off, seeming to lose himself in thought for several moments. He clears his throat. "My first question was where did I go wrong."

Scorpius flinches. He accepts his slice of cake, though he isn't sure he's in the mood anymore. His father is disappointed in him; at the end of the day, Scorpius really can't seem to do anything right.

"Then I realized that's what your grandfather would have said if it were me," his father continues, cutting himself a small piece of cake and popping it into his mouth. "That was my first clue that I was going about it wrong. Merlin help me, I sounded like my own bloody father."

Scorpius opens his mouth, but he can't seem to find the right words. Instead of saying anything, he bites into his cake slice.

"I want you to be happy," his father says. "I'm just sorry that Potter boy broke your heart."

It's a lot to take in. His father knows he's bisexual, and he hasn't been disowned. He's still hurting because he loves Albus, but maybe he can learn to move on. At least he knows he has his family's support.

"Thanks for the cake."

His father grins. "Anything for you."


	16. The Boldest Serpent

_Word Count:_ 447

* * *

"This is the worst idea you've ever had." Pansy folds her arms over her chest, scowling. "If you ask me, it's the most ridiculous, lose-lose thing. You can't be serious."

Daphne brushes her thumb over her wand, taking a deep breath. Though she has stood with Dumbledore's Army and trained with them, she has always felt out of place. Now, as things slowly fall into place and the battle is minutes from breaking out, she feels powerful.

"I'm not sorry," she says, though an invisible hand seems to squeeze her heart tightly. It isn't regret. She knows that much. But it still hurts.

"I admire your courage," Pansy says. "You know I do. But this borders on stupidity. You could _die._ "

Daphne is well aware, of course. This is war. War has casualties, and there's no promise that she won't be one of those corpses collected at the end of the battle. It scared her at first, but she has come to terms with it. "You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story," she says simply.

Pansy laughs at that and shakes her head, her dark hair thumping against her olive skin. "You're too damn noble for this House," she says. "Do you know that?"

Daphne offers her the smallest smile. The Sorting Hat never once considered putting her anywhere else. At the end of the day, she is a Slytherin. If she shows traits from other Houses, she must have picked them up along the way.

She's glad she has; maybe she would have been perfectly happy to sit back and let the world fall apart, never lifting a finger to help if she hadn't learned to be brave and kind and clever.

"I don't suppose you can promise me you'll come back, can you?" Pansy asks, voice barely above a whisper.

It's the first time Daphne has ever seen the ice queen of Slytherin so vulnerable, so desperate. Pansy is always graceful and shrewd and so above it all that Daphne sometimes wonders if she's more goddess than human. Maybe the war makes them a little broken, and Pansy is no exception.

"Promises like that are dangerous," Daphne says

Pansy's lips quirk and she nods. "Yeah. Thought so."

Daphne reaches out, tucking Pansy's silky hair behind her ear. "I'll try."

She wants to say more, but time is running out. Professor Slughorn makes one last call for anyone who wants to help during the battle.

"Go." Pansy gestures for her to move. "Go do great things."

And as Daphne follows the others out, she feels a strange sense of relief. This is where she's meant to be.

She will stand tall.


	17. Like a Lion

_Word Count: 545_

* * *

 _"Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it."- Haruku Marukami_

* * *

Regulus' fingers tremble as he pulls out the stripes of the tie. It's so much like his own House tie, except it is not silver and emerald. Regulus remembers how much his brother loved the scarlet and gold stripes, how much he prided himself on being so unlike his family.

When Sirius left, he took everything. At least, he thought he did. Regulus discovered the tie discarded beneath his brother's bed, unnoticed and ultimately forgotten, only when he had gone in there to escape his mother's endless screaming.

Merlin knows he needs the comfort now. If he's honest, he would prefer to have his brother there physically. Would Sirius support what he's doing? Would he call Regulus an idiot and remind him that this is a suicide mission?

It seems foolish to dress himself so properly for this, but he doesn't care. There is a painfully high chance that he may not return from this. His master is far too cunning to make things easy for anyone who might oppose him. Regulus can only imagine what sort of horrors are waiting for him.

His fingers are shaking too badly. He fumbles with the tie again and again, failing to get the knot just right. With a heavy sigh, he drops his hands.

"Breathe," he tells himself. "It's not the end of the world."

Except it might be. At the very least, it is likely to be the end of _his_ world. Even if he escapes, the Dark Lord may still find him. Somehow he suspects his master will not be forgiving.

Sirius would do it, Regulus thinks. Sirius has always been so brave and good; he would take this on without hesitation.

Regulus sucks in a deep breath, nodding to himself. He has to do it. It's his only chance of absolution. Somehow, though this makes his heart race painfully, it strengthens his resolve and steadies his hands. Carefully, he guides the striped fabric along, forming a perfect knot.

Regulus lifts the tie to his lips. "I want to be like you," he whispers, though he knows his brother will never hear his whispered confession. "I want to be brave."

With that, he stands tall and proud. He is not a Gryffindor, but he will have to do. "Come, Kreacher. We have work to do."

…

Cold hands grip him and force him under the water. Kreacher is safe, at least. In the back of his mind, Regulus knows that has to count for something.

As he is dragged beneath the icy water, he is strangely at peace. The Gryffindor tie is torn from his neck and floats above him, and he can swear he hears his brother's voice as he is pulled deeper into the abyss.

 _"Well, I'm certainly proud of you, you blockhead."_

"Sirius…"

But the word comes out, muffled by the water. Bubbles erupt from his mouth, swallowing all sound and making it incoherent.

"Sirius…"

He's drifting now, but he is not afraid. Death is just a part of life, he realizes. It is just a new door to open. And in the end, as the world grows dark around him and his lungs scream, he sees the scarlet and gold above him, and he knows he has died like a lion.


	18. Grief

_Word Count: 512_

* * *

The grey winter sky seems a little more grim today. Daphne takes a breath as she adjusts her scarf, trying desperately to protect herself from the chilling wind.

Once, she loved winter. She and Astoria would always race each other outside when the first snow would fall. They would spend hours in the yard, laughing and screaming until their mother called them inside. Then, safe and warm by the fireplace, they would drink hot cocoa and beg their mother to let them decorate the tree early.

But today, she finds no joy in the white blanket of snow that crunches beneath her feet. Today, the wind seems fierce and menacing. The world still spins and winter is still here, but it is a world without Astoria in it.

Daphne hesitates outside Malfoy Manor. She plucks a cigarette from her purse and tucks it between her lips before lighting up. The smoke burns her throat, and her lungs ache as smoke and cold air fill them, but she doesn't care. The pain is something of a relief.

Astoria is gone. Her beloved sister and best friend is gone, and the world is too dark, too terrible. Daphne doesn't know what to do anymore.

Astoria was her rock. Daphne was a wild one, but her little sister stood faithfully by her side, always ready to answer insults with a sharp tongue. In the end, Daphne had to be the strong one. For years she stood with Draco and Scorpius, watching Astoria slowly fade away.

Daphne realizes she's crying. She quickly swipes a gloved hand over her eyes, wiping away the tears. It hurts to know she will never see Astoria again.

She takes one final drag from her cigarette before dropping it and crushing it beneath her boot. Truth be told, she wants to light up another one. It's a bad habit, a filthy addiction, but she can't seem to quit. Especially not now, not when everything is falling apart and her world has been turned upside down.

She cannot stay out here. Holding her head high, she makes her way into the manor. It hurts so bloody bad.

Astoria picked out the cherry wood table in the parlor. Daphne remembers Lucius Malfoy throwing a fit, but, in the end, he had to cave.

Astoria used to line the shelves with the brightest flowers she could find, declaring the manor too dreary otherwise.

Daphne trembles as she ventured to where the parlor has been transformed. Astoria's photograph is on the table. She's young in that photo, smiling as she holds baby Scorpius. Daphne remembers that day well.

Draco smiles at her before gesturing her closer. He looks like hell; they all do. Astoria was only buried a week ago. Now they are gathering her at a memorial service for her while the pain and grief are still fresh.

She sits beside Scorpius, wiping her eyes again as she holds her nephew close. Astoria is not there to be their rock. Somehow, against all odds, Daphne will figure out how to be strong for them.


	19. Better Days Ahead

_Word Count: 577_

* * *

 _"Prove them wrong."_

-Unknown

* * *

"You know," Narcissa says, lighting the candles and revealing her hiding place with a wave of her wand, "courtesy dictates at least telling your mother goodbye."

Draco's cheeks turn a dark pink. Narcissa tries not to laugh. He reminds her so much of herself when she was young, before everything went crazy. Once, before the world hardened her, she wore her emotions on her sleeve as well. She can only pray that Draco will not become as frozen as she is now.

"How did you know?" he asks.

Narcissa smiles and climbs to her feet. "You are terrible at hiding things," she answers with a shrug. "So, you're going to Romania? I never knew you cared for dragons."

He shakes his head. "I don't. But it's far enough away that…"

He trails off, but it's okay. He doesn't have to finish his sentence; Narcissa understands. The Malfoy name has possibly been damaged beyond repair. She and Draco have avoided Azkaban, and Lucius has received a lighter sentence because of Harry. But it isn't enough. There are still whispers. People still stare. Narcissa can handle it because she knows how the world works, but Draco is young and more sensitive than he may want to admit.

"I'm not gullible," he says, adjusting the strap of his green bag slung over his shoulder. "What's done is done. Running isn't going to change that. But I just need _something._ "

Narcissa steps closer, taking her son gently by the hands and smiling. "It's a chance at a new life," she tells him. "I think you should take it."

"You do?"

She nods. Truth be told, she dreams of running off and starting a new life too. She won't, of course. When it is all said and done, she is a faithful wife. It is her duty to stay behind and wait for Lucius' return. Only then will she figure out a way to pick up the shattered pieces of this life.

But Draco has a chance. What mother wouldn't want the best for her only child?

"The world may believe we are terrible people," she tells him. "They will paint us as monsters until they grow bored with us. But we don't have to let that define us."

"I still feel like a monster," he says.

The admission breaks her heart. She never wanted this for her son. The moment the Dark Lord looked at Draco to follow in Lucius' footsteps, she tried to intervene. Draco deserves so much more than this. In the end, she and Lucius have left far too many scars.

He will be better than they ever could. There's no doubt in her mind. Draco is destined for great things, and he will go out there and prove the world wrong. He will show them that he is so much more than his family's name.

"I'm going to miss you, Mother," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Narcissa wraps her arms around him, holding him close. She wants to keep him there and never let go, but she knows what's best. "Go," she says, releasing him and stepping away. A sad smile tugs at her lips. "Go and change the world for me."

Draco nods before turning. Narcissa feels her heart break a little more with each step he takes, but she knows it has to be done. Draco will grow into a great man. All she can do is believe.


	20. Unworthy

_Word Count: 497_

* * *

"Would you like me to repeat the question?" Amycus snarls, digging into the plum bruises that litter her arm.

Alecto bites back a scream, silent tears falling down her cheeks. The common room is empty, but she supposes it wouldn't matter. No one would come to her rescue anyway.

"What the hell were you doing with a Mudblood?" he demands.

"Amycus, please…"

"Don't test me, Alecto," he says, his voice low and rough in warning.

Alecto is frightened, and the words sputter from her lips, forming a nonsensical string of syllables. She knows she needs to use caution around her brother, especially when he is like this. Their father is forever away, which means Amycus is safe from abuse. Alecto, on the other hand, will never be safe

"Speak up!" Amycus says sharply, releasing her arm at least.

Alecto hangs her head in shame, tears still falling. She can't seem to make them stop. "I… I just… The future…"

"Future!" Amycus echoes, his voice shrill and mocking. "Future! If you gave a damn about your future, you wouldn't be around that sort, girl!"

The shame only grows souring her stomach. It isn't what Amycus thinks. She would never dare to tarnish her family's name. Yes, she spoke with a Mudblood, but it's McGonagall's fault. If the stupid woman hadn't paired her with the filthy fool, Amycus wouldn't have seen them talking; he wouldn't be hurting her now.

She can't seem to stop crying. She isn't worthy of the Carrow name. Her family has made that crystal clear to her from the beginning. She is useless and always finds a way to ruin everything.

"I'm s-sorry," she says, wiping her eyes furiously.

"Sorry?" he says with a cruel sneer. "You think I give a damn if you're _sorry_ , Alecto? Make it right, and I might forget about this when I write to our father."

"How?"

But she knows how. There is only one way to prove that she has no attachment. Hasn't she watched her brother do the same to a handful of Muggle girls who dared to smile at him in town?

She has to hurt her Transfiguration partner. There is no way around it. If she wants this to stay between her and her brother, she will have to play his game.

Maybe it's for the best. Maybe she can prove, once and for all, that she does belong, that she is worthy of her family's name.

"I'll do it," she says, her voice trembling and barely audible.

Her brother smiles, but it does nothing to soften his features. If anything, it makes him look more terrifying. He reaches out, patting her cheek. "Good girl."

The shame is still there. She wonders if it will ever leave, if she will ever feel normal again.

For now, though, she has a job to do. Like it or not, she has to prove herself.

She only hopes she can handle the consequences and fallout that will undoubtedly follow.


	21. Stay and Fight

_Word Count: 844_

* * *

 _"Change your thoughts, and you change your world."- Norman Vincent Peale_

* * *

"I knew I shouldn't have gotten out of bed today," Horace mutters as he leads the crew of Slytherins, both students and former students, back to the castle to fight.

But he is out of bed, and dwelling on the trouble at hand won't help. In the end, Minerva is right. It is time for his House to take a stand. Horace would much rather run away and hide. Maybe no one would blame him for it; certainly no one would be surprised because that's what Horace does.

He doesn't want that to be his legacy. He hates the idea of becoming a martyr, but he pushes the thought from his head. Now is not the time for doubts and hesitations. So many people are looking at him and waiting for him to fall and revert back to his old ways. He will not give them the satisfaction. One way or another, Horace will prove them wrong.

"They aren't going to trust us," Daphne Greengrass says quietly, moving to his side.

"Poppycock! They'll know we intend to help," Horace says, and he's grateful his voice doesn't betray his own concerns. He has to be strong for his House. "Are you ready?"

She grins at him, nodding. "Let's do this."

…

It's all a chaotic blur. All around him is destruction and screaming and pain.

It isn't worth it. Perhaps he can return to his office, barricade the doors, and wait this out. That would be the smart thing to do. Horace is not suicidal, but staying to fight would mean he has a death wish.

He's about to turn and run, but something catches his eye. Justin, one of the brightest and kindest Hufflepuffs he's ever met, is engaged in a duel with a Death Eater. Justin is quick, but he is just a boy. He is no match for a skilled duelist. All it will take is one wrong move, and Justin will end up among the dead.

Horace cannot run away from this. If he does, the boy's blood will be on his hands.

With a cry, Horace lunges forward, shielding Justin just as his opponent utters a curse. Pain shoots through Horace's body. He should regret this. He should hate himself for jumping in harm's way.

He doesn't. If anything, despite the pain that rips through every inch of his body, he feels a flutter of relief. Justin is safe. That is all that should matter.

"You fool." Caspian Nott removes his mask, forest green eyes narrowing at Horace. "You absolute fool. You aren't a hero, Horace. Don't pretend you're anything more than a coward."

"Things change. People change." Horace swallows dryly. "I've changed."

"And that is your mistake," Caspian says, raising his wand. " _Avada Ke-_ "

" _Stupefy!"_

Caspian drops. Horace looks up to see Justin on his feet once again, cheeks burning pink, a glaze of sweat on his freckled skin. "Thanks, Professor," he says, holding out his hand. "Can you walk?"

Horace chuckles. "I'm old, dear boy, not dead. Of course I can walk. Why, when I was a little older than you, I obtained a much more serious injury. You see, I…"

He trails of when he hears an explosion a little ways down the corridor, and he remembers that there is a war going on. Now is not the time to reminisce; now is the time to fight. Horace pulls himself up, quickly dusting off the dirt and debris clinging to his clothes and skin. He looks at Justin, offering him a bright smile.

How could he have considered running? This is so much more important than his own life. He is an old man who has lived a good, long life, but there are children who may not get that chance if the Dark Lord wins. It is not an easy choice to make, but he knows it is the right one.

"Shall we?" Horace asks, raising his wand.

Justin nods. "Yes."

…

It's over. Horace staggers to the Great Hall, slumping down at the end of the Ravenclaw table. The war is finally over, and good has come out victorious.

"I'm telling you! I wouldn't be here if Professor Slughorn hadn't intervened!" Justin says as he and a group of friends pass by. "You should have seen him! He didn't even hesitate before jumping in the way of the curse."

"It seems that I misjudged you." Minerva sits beside him, offering him a soft smile.

Horace chuckles. "I'm glad to know I'm still full of surprises," he says. "I would hate to think that I've become terribly predictable. How dull."

They fall into silence, sitting back and watching the hall around them. The war is over. Survivors cling to one another and mourn those who did not make it. There is a great sadness in the air, but Horace can feel the hope beneath it all.

The world will get better. Evil has fallen, and they can rebuild.

And, against all odds, Horace has helped.


	22. Damned

_Word Count: 391_

* * *

He's in Potions when the first wave of doubt hits. The blade of his knife slices into his dandelion root, and he grows cold without warning.

It's like an icy hand has reached inside his body, and its fingers have wrapped around his stomach. Draco drops the knife and grips the edge of the table.

Panicking won't do him any good, but he can't help it now.

He is a Death Eater. An actual Death Eater. Maybe there's a part of him that always idolized his father; maybe he had even considered following in his footsteps and serving the Dark Lord. But this? It's too much and he wonders if he's done the wrong thing.

Beside him, Pansy keeps rambling about some insignificant thing. Maybe Granger looked at her the wrong way or something. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter in the greater scheme of things. Draco turns, jaw slack.

Shouldn't he be worried about things like that? Shouldn't he continue with his vendetta against Potter, his mission to always be the best? Now his heart isn't in it. He is slipping and breaking, and he doesn't like how it feels.

He has made a terrible mistake, and there is no way to undo it.

"Are you okay?" Pansy asks, dropping spoonful of powdered newt tail into their steaming cauldron.

 _Okay_. The word almost makes him laugh. He is pretty far from okay.

But he doesn't tell her that. She wouldn't understand. Instead, he just waves her away and mutters, "I'm fine."

Her eyes roll. "Drop the strong act. You look like you're going to be sick," she says, her tone firm but not unkind.

She has always been lovely to him, even when he hadn't deserved it. In another life, maybe he could have actually been more of a friend to her.

"I said I'm fine," he snaps.

"Mister Malfoy." Professor Slughorn approaches them, a concerned frown on his face. "I appreciate that this is a more advanced potion, but please keep your outbursts under control."

Draco mutters an apology he doesn't mean before lifting his knife again and carefully slicing the roots into even smaller pieces. He needs to push this doubt from his mind. There is nothing he can do about, and no change of heart can set him free.

He is damned. Worse still, he is alone.


	23. Newfound Bravery

_Word Count: 538_

* * *

"What am I, a mirage?"

Daphne takes a deep breath as she turns. Marcus Flint leans against the shelf, grinning at her. "What the hell are you doing here, Flint?"

His grin only broadens. "What? Just because I didn't fight in the battle, I don't belong here? I'm not allowed to help clean the place up?"

She rolls her eyes. She doesn't believe his innocent act for a second, and she keeps walking. The library isn't the worst place in the castle, but it's where she seems to be drawn to now.

"What happened to you?" he asks, following alongside her.

Daphne resists a groan. Marcus has been like this since she turned sixteen, always around, always trying to impress her. She touches her fingers to the scars that cut across her cheek, marks left behind to remind her of Alecto Carrow's wrath. "We all bear scars," she says with a shrug of her slender shoulders. "Mine just happen to more visible than most."

Marcus laughs. "That's not what I meant," he says. "You used to be all shy and cute. Next thing I know, you're some great weapon, fighting against…"

He doesn't finish the sentence; he doesn't have to. Daphne knows how Marcus looked at the Dark Lord. Fearfully. If he had been asked, Marcus would have followed to save himself. So many in their House would have.

Fighting against the Dark Lord hadn't felt like a radical act, but she knows it was.

She feels her heart ache and quickly turns away, aiming her wand at a busted table. " _Reparo_."

"Why did you do it?" he asks.

"Why wouldn't I? It was the right thing to do."

It had been as natural as anything. Why fight for a cause she didn't believe in? Why lay her life down for a monster? In the end, she made the right choice. In the end, she had been terrified, but she can carry on with her head held high.

"Where'd you learn to be so brave, huh?"

With a roll of her eyes, she casts a repairing charm on a splintered chair. "You always hated the library, so what are you doing here?" she asks. "You know you would be happy to leave it in ruins."

"Pince always hated me," he agrees with a nod.

"Pince hates everyone," Daphne points out.

"Fair dues." Marcus shrugs. "But I think it should be obvious. You're here."

Daphne sighs and shakes her head, moving along.

"Come on. The war is over. There's no more looming death hanging over our heads," he says. "So… Why not take one more chance?"

She can't think of a reason to say no. Despite his appearance, Marcus is actually rather nice. He's always been nothing but good to her. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try to be more than friends.

Playfully prodding her finger against his chest, she grins. "Start repairing shelves, and I'll let you take me our for dinner after."

Marcus offers her a mock salute and sets about, casting spells this way and that, slowly tidying the library with each step.

Maybe he's right. Maybe it's time to take another type of risk, to harness this newfound bravery.

At least it's worth a try.


	24. Loss and Love

_Word Count: 1217_

* * *

Blaise finds his mother's body. She's draped over the couch, wine glass still held in her hand, delicate fingers curled around the crystal stem. There's a puddle of wine on the polished oak floors.

"Mother?" Blaise's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. He steps closer. "Mother?"

 _"Mother!" Six-year-old Blaise bounces on the balls of his feet, radiating his excitement. "Mother, you said we could play in the garden!"_

 _Her dark eyes narrow at him, annoyance clear in the hard set of her jaw. She turns, all smiles and charm in the blink of an eye, offering an apologetic smile to Franz, the latest wealthy man to catch her eye. "Excuse me, darling. It won't take but a moment."_

 _She grips Blaise's arm, dragging him from the room. "How many times have I told you that when I am entertaining, you are not to interrupt?"_

 _He wonders what Franz would think if he saw her like this. She's always nicer when the men she likes are around._

 _"I'm sorry, Mother."_

 _She releases his arm. "Hopsy! Take the boy out to play!"_

Hopsy appears at his side, quiet as a mouse. "Master Blaise doesn't need to be seeing this," she says, placing her tiny hand in his. "You need to be coming with Hopsy."

But he can't bring himself to walk away. Instead, he steps closer. There's a glint of bronze in her lap, and he recognizes the vial immediately. How many times has she shown him those vials and told him of the things she could with a little poison?

 _By twelve, Blaise doesn't question it anymore. When Husband Number Four comes into the picture, he just smiles and plays his part. It's his duty to be the perfect son, to make sure Husband Number Four feels welcomed._

 _He waits. There is no rhyme or reason to what his mother does. Or, well, maybe there is, but he's never been able to understand it. All he knows is that his mother will eventually pull out one of her many bronze vials, and all that will be left of Husband Number Four will be his fortune in the family vault._

 _So he does what he does best. He wears his most charming smile and makes himself small, playing the part of the perfect son and waiting._

When Theo arrives, Blaise is more annoyed than he would like to admit. On one hand, he's always happy to see his boyfriend. On the other, Theo worries too damn much, and Blaise hates it. Everything is fine; _he_ is fine.

But Theo doesn't give him a chance to say as much. Within seconds, his slender arms are wrapped around Blaise, holding him right, and his lips trail little kisses over Blaise's skin.

"How are you holding up?" Theo asks, stepping back and offering Blaise a warm smile.

Blaise opens his mouth to respond, but Theo begins again.

"If you want, we can stay at Mother's family's little house in Italy after the funeral," he says. "It's right on this little vineyard, and I think you will love it. You can take all the time you need to clear your head."

"Theo!" Blaise catches his boyfriend by the wrist, shaking his head as he exhales deeply. "Theo, I appreciate the gesture, but my head is perfectly clear. I'm fine."

"You just lost your mother."

Blaise shrugs. Maybe he feels a twinge of guilt for his apathy, but he doesn't voice it aloud. "Yeah, well… Not like we were close."

 _It's all a show. He stands beside his mother, dressed in his finest suit and holding her gloved hand. The others buy it without question. He is a good son, supporting his mother during such a trying time._

 _They've done this so many times before that it feels second nature to him now. He wears a brave face, holding his arms out and embracing his mother, showing the world that their pain is real, that he will do anything to help his mother find peace._

 _But as soon as no one is looking, he knows the masks will drop. He will no longer be an actor, and things will go back to normal._

He stands in the graveyard. By now, this routine has become so familiar to him. People offer their condolences, and he smiles sadly as he thanks them.

Theo stays close, but not too close. There are far too many eyes here, far too many people who may whisper. In the end, he knows that reputation still means everything, and he cannot give anyone any reason to suspect that he isn't a perfect pure-blood.

Words are spoken, and Blaise remains stoic. His posture is rigidly straight, eyes focused straight ahead.

Only when the coffin is lowered in the ground does he feel the first stab of emotion. His chest constricts painfully. Gasping, he slumps forward, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Blaise sucks in a deep breath, but it does nothing to steady him.

She's gone. Why does it hurt so suddenly?

"Blaise? Hey, Blaise?" Theo is by his side in an instance, seeming to no longer care about what is and isn't proper. His hands are so soft as they find Blaise's shoulders.

Why does he feel like he's falling apart all of a sudden? Why does Theo feel so strong, more like home than anything Blaise has ever known?

He throws his arms around his boyfriend, burying his face in Theo's chest, and he sobs.

 _"Why don't you ever cry at funerals?" Blaise asks curiously, accepting a glass of wine from Hopsy._

 _His mother chuckles softly, turning her head this way and that, admiring the emerald necklace that rests on her chest. Her lips purse, and she takes it off, trading it in for something more subtle, something that will not garner too much attention at the funeral._

 _"Darling boy," she says, catching his eye in the mirror and offering him a small smile, "we save our tears for those we love. Why should I weep for Orlando? He was little more than a means to an end."_

He doesn't remember leaving the gravesite, but he finds himself at home once again with Theo fretting over him. Hopsy brings them both a cup of tea before bowing out.

"I loved her," Blaise says, and he feels so stupid for not seeing it sooner. "I loved my mother."

Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? That's what family is all about, but it never has been for him. Not really.

He looks up at his boyfriend, reaching out for him. Theo takes him by the hand, gently kissing his knuckles.

"Was I a bad son?" His voice is small, barely even a whisper. "Is that why she poisoned herself?"

Theo shakes his head. "Of course not."

But Blaise doesn't really believe him. What other explanation is there?

Blaise wipes the tears from his eyes, sniffling. He's falling apart, and he doesn't know what to do. The only thing that makes sense is to cling to Theo, to hold him closer and pray he doesn't slip away.

His world is falling apart. He never expected it to be like this, for loss to hurt this bad. But Theo is there, and maybe, just maybe, he can make it through.


End file.
